The rich smell of chai was mixing with the sharp tang of coffee and the sweet scent of butterscotch. Ashley couldn’t remember the last time she ate, and for once she was glad of it. Her stomach was jumping too much to handle food.
The doc slowly unpacked her bag, not looking at them. “What did you find?”
Brody looked at Ashley. Ashley looked back at Brody. Brody looked back at Ashley.
Ashley swallowed her frustration. “We were able to, uh, track Ian to the airport. Burbank, that is. We, uh, we tried to go into the airport. Brody—that is, we were thinking, you know, surveillance cameras. But we got stopped ‘cause we didn’t have luggage or a ticket. So we tried to track down the guys—I could smell them outside the airport, going into LA. Eagle Rock, that is. We found the driver. He said he thought it was just some frat prank. One of the guys, he just disappeared, and another one—” Ashley tried not to think of the sheet in the morgue. “—was not available for questioning. We found the one guy, but he didn’t really want to talk at first and he had several, um, really big friends—”
Brody took over. “He said he was approached by his friend, the one who’s missing, to take Ian as ‘some rich guy’s joke.’ They took him to a private plane at the airstrip; the gentlemen they met there were joking about taking a bachelor’s party weekend in Cancun.”
“Cancun?”
“I have a friend looking into it, but I think we can safely say Ian’s not there. The gentleman we spoke to was concerned about the way Ian reacted.”
The doc ignored her sister’s quick, nervous glance. “What way would that be?”
“A way that people usually don’t,” Brody answered, in what Ashley recognized as his you-know-what-I’m-talking-about-so-I-don’t-have-to-say-it-out-loud voice.
The doc finally looked at them. “Is that it?”
Ashley looked away.
“Brody, what can you do?” she asked.
“As I said, I’ve got a buddy in Mexico. He’ll check things out for me, but I doubt Ian’s there. The man we spoke to said the guys on the plane were really pissed off that they’d dinged Ian up a bit.”
The doc nodded. “You think it’s Proom, don’t you?”
Brody hesitated before answering. “Ordinarily I’d say it’s not his style. Proom buys and sells people. He doesn’t kidnap them.”
“He couldn’t buy Ian,” the doc said bitterly. “And he’s been after him for a long time. Trying to buy up the real estate around the store, sending Ian letters about the possibility of a Game Stop opening in town. Allie got one about a scholarship that’ll give her a full ride.”
“They’re just letters. They’re not proof. I don’t have proof and I don’t have time to get any because I need to get Ash back to Sugar Beach. We can’t stay away any longer. We’re pushing it as is. Cole’s going to want to know what’s going on with Ashley. I can tell you this,” Brody added. “If Proom is doing this, it’s without authorization. Cole and his people are not going to be happy about that. They’re going to want to look into it.”
The doc nodded and turned her head away, but Ashley caught the tears. Allie went to her sister and looped an arm around her waist.
“Cole called here,” Brody said.
“He may have.” The doc turned to them defiantly. “I’m afraid Allison and I have been far too concerned with our brother’s safety for me to check my work phone or bother to return any other calls.”
Ashley stared at her. Brody smiled. “Good girl.”
The doc glared at him. “Oh, get out.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she buried her face in her hands.
“You have to get back, too,” Brody told the doc. Because of her, Ashley knew, because therapy was a condition of her freedom, and she felt sick with it. “You have to get back soon.”
Dr. MacNamara nodded, swiped away the tears on her face and fought to blink back the ones that were still coming. “I’ll be back by Monday. Thank you,” she called after them when they went to leave. She nodded to Brody, then gave Ashley a smile, all the more horrible for the effort she put into it. “Thank you, Ashley.”
“You’re welcome,” Ashley muttered, and the words burned her tongue.
They were crossing the familiar bridge back to Sugar Beach when Ashley finally asked the question that was eating at her. “What did you mean? When you said that if Proom was doing this it was without authorization.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at Brody.
“Exactly what I said. I wasn’t exactly being subtle. Program’s on hiatus, you know that.”
“The Director could have started it up again.”
“Not without telling me,” Brody said, “and he wouldn’t have told me without me telling you. No, this is Proom, and he’s doing it on his own.” He let out a hard breath and glared out at the water. “And it’s my fault.”
“What? How—”
“I told Cole he had to shut down the program.”
“He won’t listen to you.”
“I think he will. Cole owes me. And he likes me. Likes me more than he likes Proom,” Brody amended. “And—I don’t think he was really happy with how things turned out. With the program. With you and Jase. If that sort of thing got out, it would be really bad for him. So I think he’ll listen. Just like he seemed to listen when I told him I wasn’t sending you back. Not if you didn’t want to go.”
It was only when Brody had to turn back to look at her that Ashley realized she had stopped. The sun was glaring up from the water, it was like a knife in her eyes. She tried to say something, tried to think of something to say, but she couldn’t.
Brody walked back to her. After a moment, he sighed. “I didn’t want to say anything until he gave me a solid yes or no. Until I knew whether or not it was going to be a fight. But—fuck it.
“After the incident, with the rabbit, I called up Cole. And I guess he talked to Proom. I told him you’d put up with enough of their shit already, and that, go or stay, it wasn’t their choice. And it isn’t mine. It’s yours. Do you want to stay?”
“Brody—” Ashley almost choked on the word.
“Do you want to stay?”
“Cole—Proom—they’ll never approve—”
“Not up to him. Your choice. You want to stay that’s…that’s fine.” Brody cleared his throat. “You want to go somewhere else, that’s fine too. But you are not going back. Not if you don’t want to.”
Ashley swallowed hard. “Proom won’t—he’ll come after me.”
“Yeah, he will. Stay or go.”
“Stay.” It came out almost on a sob. She wasn’t aware of even thinking the word.
“Okay then. I know what they did to you,” he said, quieter. “You know I do. Not all, but enough. I see you fight it every day. I’m proud of you. And I’m on your side.”
Ashley looked away, stared at the sun reflecting off the water until it hurt. Until she could speak. “I need you to teach me how to fight.”
“You’ve been in fights.”
“That’s not the same, and you know it.”
“Then why.”
Which was bullshit. Brody knew why. He just wanted Ashley to say it out loud. He wanted Ashley to say it, and hear herself saying it. “They took Ian. They took him and they got away with it, and I’m not stupid enough to think they’re going to stop at one. Next time they come, I need to make sure I can stop them.”
Brody nodded, that goddamn happy light in his eyes. “We can start whenever you want.”
“Today. Now.”
Ch. 14
For Ashley, every second in Paco’s was pain. All those people in that small place, and the light searing, and the noise pounding at her, and smells, god the smells. She had to be a fucking masochist to volunteer for this day in and day out. But that was the point, wasn’t it? The truth was just so goddamn stupid. She did it because everyone else did it. She did it because it was hard, because it hurt. Because it also helped. Or maybe she just told herself it helped. But every day she could wa
lk out that door was like winning. It was almost like being normal.
She tried to focus on being calm and still, when she could feel something deep inside of her that wouldn’t stop shaking. Stay or go, Brody had said, and she’d picked stay, and now there would be an every day, or as many as she could have. And when Proom came, Brody would stand with her.
Ashley wasn’t entirely sure why her first thought had been to tell Cam. To find him.
That was why she was here. She’d gone because it was the best place to look for him. Because hunting for him would be too pathetic, and besides she knew he’d show at Paco’s eventually. And until “eventually” happened, she’d use the time to stop shaking.
The lunch rush was almost over, which meant they should be in soon. They usually waited for Liz to get out of camp to head over. Ashley told herself it was a good thing she didn’t have her phone. She didn’t want to call. She didn’t want to, but she probably would’ve because while part of her didn’t want to call, the rest of her really just wanted to hear his voice.
Which was, she knew, pathetic.
Not as pathetic, though, as how she was just focused on the door, like a goddamn English Pointer. Even as she watched a lifeguard native hit on bikinied tourists, or tried to pick out all of the ingredients in Paco’s enchiladas by scent, or pretended she couldn’t hear the guys in the back kitchen joke about whether or not Sam was losing his hair, her mind was on the door. Waiting for it to open. Willing it to.
Then the breeze picked up and waved through the open window and she smelled him. The scent of mint and sawdust and Cam cut through the grease and cheese and hot peppers. Ashley glanced at the door—waited…
The door swung open, and the tension in her chest deflated, slow as a Sunday afternoon. I missed you, she thought, which shouldn’t have surprised her, though the strength of it did. She tried to push it back, bury it deep. She had to force herself to keep there and keep still, not call out to him, to wait until he saw her.
Then he did.
It had occurred to her once or twice that Cam had different faces for different people. As if there were bits and pieces of himself that he set away, depending on who he was with, and whether or not he trusted them. He was always honest, but he was rarely open, and Ashley understood that, and could appreciate it.
She’d never thought about how he looked at her before. How he was looking at her now. It almost made her want to run.
Cam came over, and part of her noticed how she didn’t so much mind the noise anymore, or the crowd or the smells. How, if she thought about it, there was only one thing she could smell. But it was a small part of her, and she could ignore it.
Cam stopped at her table, but he didn’t sit. He just stood there, staring down at her, this tight look on his face that she couldn’t read. So Ashley jumped in, rushing past all the awkward “hi’s” and “you’re back’s” and “what happened’s,” hurling out the one thing she could safely think about. “You painted my room.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” It came out like an accusation.
“I thought it would look nice.” He set his satchel on the chair across from her, but didn’t sit. “If you don’t like it, I can paint it back.”
“That’s not the point,” Ashley said, feeling stupid and silly but rushing on anyway. “You went in my room, and you painted it, and you didn’t even ask me.”
The stubborn set left Cam’s shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll fix it this weekend,” he offered.
“No, it’s fine. I mean, I guess it’s fine. It’s…yellow. Thanks,” she added.
“Thank Tyler, too. He helped.”
“Tyler was there?” She glanced at Tyler, who was smirking at something Danny said. “But he…hates me.” Wow, that sounded really petty now that she said it.
“He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t trust you,” Cam said.
“Same difference.”
“There is, actually. May I?” He gestured at the seat across from her. Ashley shrugged, and he sat. “When someone hates you, there’s no mistaking it.”
He’s serious, she realized, and leaned forward on her elbows. “Who hates you, Cam?”
He smiled and met her stare head-on, unblinking. “My parents.”
It took her a moment; it wasn’t the answer she was expecting. “Why?”
“Because of what I can do. Because I won’t pretend I can’t do it, and can’t, and won’t, stop doing it.”
“Why? Why would they hate that?” she added. How could anyone hate you?
He stared down at the table, his expression closed. “They think it’s ungodly. ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch’ and all that. To be fair, they never actually tried to burn me at the stake.”
“They’re wrong.”
Cam smiled. “Thank you. I think so, too. Doesn’t make it better.”
“No.” It didn’t. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I hated living there. I like living here.”
He looked very alone then, and a little lost, in spite of what he said. His hands were folded together on the table; Ashley wanted to reach across, take them, wind her fingers through his. But that was a stupid thought. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d touched someone—voluntarily—without wanting to hurt them—and besides she didn’t like touching anyway. She’d meant it when she told Cam that, and he’d been very conscientious about keeping a respectful distance.
She appreciated that. Really. Ashley held out a hand, needing to do something with them. “Can I at least have my phone back?”
Cam fished her phone out of his pocket, but held it back when she reached for it. “On one condition. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I—”
“Don’t,” he said, and the don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about died in her throat.
“Haven’t we had enough heavy talk for one day?” she pleaded.
“I don’t know. How heavy?”
“Really damn heavy. That’s my phone, you know.”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“That’s stealing.”
He shrugged that off. “I’ve stolen before.” At her skeptical look, he smiled. “Believe it or not, I have a police record.”
“Bullshit, Boy Scout.”
“I was a Boy Scout. I was also arrested when I was sixteen for slashing the tires on a CAT bus.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“My parents said I was acting out because I was selfish and irresponsible and wanted attention.”
“Okay. But why did you do it?” she asked again, and that made him smile. A real smile, one that took the solemn look out of his eyes and showed off his dimples, and there was a thrill of pride because she did that, she could make him do that. He’s cute, Ashley realized. She hadn’t noticed before. Why hadn’t she noticed before? He was really cute. There was a flutter of panic in her stomach.
“Something was wrong with the engine. The mechanic wouldn’t have believed some kid off the street, so I took the direct approach.” He drew himself in, sitting up straighter, waved her phone.
Ashley shifted in her seat. “I could just take it from you.”
“You could.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Then held out her hand. He dropped her phone into it.
She waited until the restaurant cleared out. It didn’t take long. Cam didn’t press her, and he didn’t ask stupid questions just for the sake of talking. Trust, again. Ashley thought it would feel heavier.
Danny and the others came over and asked to join them. That is, Liz started to ask, but Danny just slipped into a seat and plunked down a plate of nachos. He called a good-bye when he headed out with the other two, with a general promise to meet up later. Cam nodded and waved, and then turned back to her. Ashley ate, hungry, even though she didn’t feel like eating. “Now you can tell Meg that I did actually have lunch. She’s been on me about eating regular meals,” Ashley explained. “I think I’m
her new project.”
“She worries about you,” Cam said.
“I know. But I am getting better. I’m gaining weight,” she said, spearing a cherry tomato.
“I know.”
Ashley’s head shot up, stopping the fork midway to her mouth. “Thanks.”
Cam grinned. “That’s not something you need to worry about, Ashley.”
“I am a girl.” She shoved the tomato in her mouth anyway, and muttered, “In case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed.”
Ashley forced herself to chew and swallow, to focus on her salad and not think about why her face had suddenly grown hot.
“So.” Cam cleared his throat. “That’s a…a girl thing, then?”
“Yes.” Ashley finally managed to look up. “Every girl, everywhere. Also their hair.”
“Oh. Well, you do need to worry about that.”
Immediately Ashley tugged her fingers through her hair—she had combed it today, hadn’t she?—and then stopped when she saw his smile. “Go to hell, Cam.”
“Stop, you’re making me homesick,” he replied dryly. He nodded at where her phone lay on the table. “Is there a microphone in it?”
“Yeah. That’s how phones work,” she told him.
“Very funny.”
Ashley shrugged. “There was,” she said, before he could ask again. “Brody took it out when I first got here.”
“Just the tracking device, then.”
“Most phones have GPS. You know, for parents who want to track their kids.”
“It’s not your parents, though,” Cam said.
Ashley shook her head. “His name is Proom.” It felt weird, saying it out loud, saying it to Cam. It must be what the wizards in Harry Potter felt like when they said Voldemort’s name. “He, um…I—” The words were a knot in her chest, hard and sticky as old taffy.
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